Seven Times Ron Doesn't See Hermione
by Kelly123
Summary: Pretty self-explanatory, don't cha think?
1. Stones

_So I knew it would happen. I knew I would watch HBP (3 times, ps) and want to write a R/Hr, and yes, positively SQUEE! At the romantic tension in this one, even if it wasn't exactly true to the book. So I started thinking….and this was what I got._

_Seven times Ron doesn't see Hermione. Maybe he doesn't notice her presence, or maybe they weren't in the same room, what have you. Whatever the case may be, I hope to concoct some of the relationship building that went on behind the scenes._

_Obviously not mine, or else I would have ruined it by having them jump each other as soon as the hormones kicked in._

_Enjoy!_

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_**HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERERS STONE**_

"**It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."**

**Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face-and was startled to see that she was in tears.**

"**I think she heard you."**

"**So?" said Ron but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must notice she's got no friends."**

One foot in front of the other. Left right, left right. Turn, down the corridor, up the stairs, through the portrait hole.

Or rather, she tried to go through the portrait hole. Of course the fat lady gave her a hard time about the password. She _knew_ what it was and she was _trying_ to say it, but really, it's quite hard to enunciate clearly when one is bawling one's eyes out.

"What was that again little missy?" The framed woman snipped, crossing her arms over her ample chest and regarding Hermione suspiciously. Suspicious of what the little girl couldn't possibly imagine. She wasn't the sort of child who was at often at odds with her elders, and the strangeness of the situation only added to the deterioration of her rapidly sinking mood. Sniffling violently, she tried to stutter out "pig snout" yet again, but the giggles of several exiting fourth year girls did nothing to calm her nerves or steady her voice. Tears came harder now, hot with shame as she ducked her head low into her robes. If such a spell existed, she wished beyond all wishes she knew how to melt herself down and seep into the floorboards. Or become invisible. Whichever one was the quicker way to end this agony.

She would have to consult her books to see if this was possible.

But she would have to do that later, much later, when she was…herself again. For now, she would have to make do with doing things the old-fashioned way.

Hiding.

Scurrying as fast as she could down the hallways, she kept her head down to dodge eye contact with the few students that loitered in the corridors. Really, didn't they have someplace to _be_? She tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as she picked her way along the cold stone walls, desperate to avoid drawing attention to herself, _especially_ like this. She couldn't bear to look like even more of a fool in front of everyone…though if Ronald Weasley was right no one could stand her already. Staring at her feet as she made the now-familiar trek, she was comforted to find the girl's lavatory empty. She wasted no time in flinging open the doors of the nearest stall and darting inside. Filling her hands with toilet paper she held the wad up to her face and finally allowed those deep, comforting, gut-wrenching sobs to roll forth from her.

She wouldn't admit it, she couldn't, not even to herself… but oh _dear_ how badly she wanted her mother right now!

Hogwarts was hard, much harder than she had anticipated. Not the academics of it all of course, at least that much was working out splendidly. Learning had always come easy to her, and she was quickly finding wizardry studies to be even more fascinating than her muggle schooling. Charms, potions, history of magic, it was all so very spellbinding (no pun intended). She craved the knowledge of such strange things as though it were her sustenance for living. And perhaps, it was. There wasn't much else getting her by these days.

It was the social aspect she was having trouble with…again. She had hoped things would be different here than they were back home, that she would finally find a place where she could fit in with these students. These children were special, they had gifts, they were like her! Surely she would finally find someone whose interests were more in tune with her own here, someone with whom she could discuss books and share secrets and do all the things the other girls in her prim and proper London academy had done. The things she told herself she was too busy for, or too mature, when really…

But that had been foolish, she chastised herself, disposing of her deteriorated tissues and restocking her supply. Blinking hard she tried to quell her tears and regain her composure…without much success. Children were foolish, she told herself, and she didn't need them. What she needed was facts and books, things that were solid and dependable and didn't make fun of you just because you happened to care about your studies… and here she had plenty of both. To cry was a waste of time better spent studying.

Ronald Weasley certainly could stand to spend a bit more time studying.

Not that she cared of course, but if he kept this up she didn't see how he possibly would make it throughout the school year. Maybe he thought he could skirt by on having so many family members pass through the school. She may have been a muggleborn, but it didn't take long for one to hear about the Weasley's legacy here at Hogwarts. His own older brother was a prefect, as had been the eldest ones before him, though she doubted Ronald would follow in their footsteps. Maybe he thought his brother would go easy on him, but she doubted Percy was the kind of boy to let Ronald slide due to nepotism. Ron could stand to pick up a few things about responsibility from him, if she did say so herself. Or maybe it was the other two, the twins Fred and George. Now it was no secret that those boys were positively out of control, but all the same well liked by students and teachers alike (though the latter might never admit it). Maybe he thought he had their laughable charm and wit on his side to help him shirk his studies and fumble his way along.

Well, she hated to tell him, but he most _certainly_ didn't.

Not that she would tell him, not that she would ever, _ever_ speak to that wretched boy _ever _again in her entire existence...but still. It was something even he couldn't be daft enough not to notice.

Hrrumph, if he wasn't going to notice it, then neither was she. She wasn't going to notice his sloppy penmanship, or his ridiculous red hair, or his abominable amount of freckles, or the way his ears turned as cherry bright as a ripe tomato when he was embarrassed…Not that she had ever noticed any of that before of course.

But if she had, she certainly wouldn't notice it again.

Better things to do after all. Studies and spells and quills and…

And ha, he was one to talk about friends! The only person she ever noticed him hanging about with (not, of course, that she noticed who he hung about with) was that Harry Potter boy. Oh yes, she had heard all about Harry, _everyone_ had heard about Harry, even friendless muggleborns like herself. Frankly though, she didn't notice anything particularly special about him. He was nice enough, as far as she could tell, at least he had never said vile and cruel and completely undeserved things about people he hardly knew at all and had no business…that is to say, he had always been polite to her. He did relatively well in the classes they shared (better than Ronald) and he was quite a natural at flying, and though it was an aspect of wizardry she honestly didn't place much importance on, it was a wizard skill nonetheless. As far as her performance on a broomstick, it would be a lie to say she wasn't disappointed, but she had read about apparition and she was sure she would excel at that when the time came to get her license. She could think of a person or two who might have difficulty with such a task, though of course she wouldn't mention any names. But Harry, yes, honestly from all she had read about him she was expecting someone a bit more…well, she certainly hadn't pictured him with glasses in the very least.

She wondered what Ronald would look like with glasses. Percy had them, so bad eyes might run in the family. She tried to think if she had ever seen him squinting at the blackboard, or holding his book up closely to his face.

But that was rubbish, of course! As if he ever held up his book to do anything but shield himself from the jinxes the twins sent out in his direction. Not that it did much good, his reflexes were rather slow. Slow, stupid…dumb boy. All of them, they were all just dumb boys and she shouldn't care what he-err, they thought. She _didn't_ care what they thought, any of them.

Or at least, that was what she would keep telling herself. Maybe if she said it enough, it would become true…

Giving a few half-hearted swipes at her eyes, Hermione exhaled deeply. Drawing her knees up to her chin she rested her head up upon them, staring blankly at the faded door in front of her. She was used to being teased for reading too much and poked fun of for her hair…or her teeth…or, well, let's just say she was used to the cruelty of children. What she wasn't used to was letting it get to her like this. Stress, that was what it had to be. She was stressing herself out trying to be the perfect witch, and it was starting to wear at her. _Ronald_ alone couldn't do this to her, because HA, who cared what a bumbling fool like him thought about her? Not Hermione Granger, that was for certain! No, she assured herself, it wasn't him in particular…it was the situation. All she needed was a nice, long cry, and now that she had that out of her system she could be back to her old self. Good ole nerdy, confident Hermione. Friendless and all. Feeling marginally better about herself, she stood slowly to her feet and stepped timidly out of her stall. Thankfully, she was still alone. She had lost track of time during her little rant, but judging from the voracious growl her stomach let out she assumed it was growing close to dinner. For the first time in what felt like ages, she smiled. That was one thing she could agree with Ronald about, Hogwarts food certainly trumped her old school's.

Walking up to the mirrors, she grimaced at her reflection in the glass. Turning on the creaky old facet, she leaned down to splash some cold water on her face.

Wait…what was that noise?

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_Oh tee hee how I love me some good old-fashioned puppy love…especially when it doesn't stop at the puppy stage! Next chapter is going to be from Chamber of Secrets (if you hadn't figured it out, the 'seven times' and from the seven books). Please help me pick which scene to write, suggestions would be greatly appreciated!_


	2. Chambers

_Second book, second installation! _

_I think Chamber of Secrets is my least favorite Potter…well, it might be tied with Order of the Phoenix, but that's just because I utterly loathe Umbridge. Anyway, I haven't read this book in ages, so I popped in the movie. Not my fav, but still good stuff._

_Oh, and ps, chapters and I aren't too well-acquainted, so forgive me if updates are just a smidge erratic. I'll try my best though…and reviews always make me want to write more!_

_Here we go!

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_**HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS**_

"**I-I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me."**

"**Hermione, we know Millicent Bultstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you-"**

Ugly? Ugly!

As if Hermione Granger was the type of girl to be deterred from something just because it was "ugly." As if she would let the something as ridiculous as the physical appearance of something (or someone) keep her from accomplishing what she set out to do.

As if she were that shallow. As if she were that vain.

She had spent all twelve years of her life stuck with horrid, unruly hair and these unmistakable buck-teeth …well, in all actuality maybe not _all _eleven, per say. There were those few months after her birth when she was bald, and several years of her early childhood before her permanent central incisors erupted, but still. Hermione knew very well what her mirror reflection looked like, thank you very much, and from that knew that girls like her were not allowed the frivolity of vanity.

But then again, how could she ever expect _boys_ to understand.

"**Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry through the door.**

Who did they think she was, Lavender Brown? For their information, just because a person was a girl didn't mean she automatically fell into all those foolish girly stereotypes.

"**Fine-I'm fine-go on-" **She said shortly, jaw clenched.(Secretly though, in the back of her mind she couldn't help but feel a quiet triumph that they did realize she was a girl…some days she wondered.)

But that was beside the point! Having an extra X chromosome didn't genetically instill an urge to primp and prune in ones blood anymore than having a Y made on brawny and suave…Ron was a living testimony to that. She, for one, had much better things to do with her time than tie ribbons in her hair and apply sticky gloss to her lips. Things like studying. Which, need she remind _everyone,_ was why they were even here in the first place? To learn, and about spells and magic and other such practical knowledge…not beauty tips.

She frowned disapprovingly at the retreating footsteps of her two friends. Two years she had known them, two years! And yet, did they not know her at all? Did they think that she would allow something as trivial as having Millicent's rather… well, square jaw keep her from coming out of the stall? How pathetic! Hearing the door swing shut, she crossed her arms over her chest…

And immediately felt her eyes well with tears at the sensation.

Ugly? Oh this was so much worse than ugly!

This was…inhumane!

In horrified disbelief, she held uncrossed her arms and held them up in front of her. Her fingernails tapered into sharp points and thick black hair obscured every visible inch of her skin. No, hair wasn't the right word for the atrocity. This, this was most certainly _fur_. Soft, silky and generally pleasing…except when it covered oneself instead of the friendly neighborhood tomcat.

Personally, Hermione had never had a pet of her own. The dander bothered her father.

She wondered if he was allergic to wearing felines as well. Because it seemed that…well, he had one for a daughter now.

Oh no, what an awful thought! Her own father, sniffling and sneezing at the mere presence of his only child! How could she ever go home again, how could her parents explain their furry daughter to the neighbors? "Oops! Sorry that Hermione was digging in your begonias again Mrs. Pearson, I'm afraid she's going through a rather odd stage right now." But that was preposterous, surely she would be back to sorts by the time school was out of Christmas. Or at the latest, summer? Or…oh dear me, what if this was permanent? What if she was stuck like this? What if she was never a normal girl ever again?

Ha, how foolish of her. In order to be normal _again_ she would have to have been normal in the first place.

And that, most certainly, was not the case.

So maybe not "normal" per say, but at least human! Not some half-breed creature concocted by a know-it-all second year in an abandoned lavatory. Back when she was still a girl (oh, such a phrase she never thought she would ever have to utter!), she had always thought her bushy hair quite bothersome, but now she would give almost anything to have it back instead of this mess covering her skull. She ran her hands, err, paws rather, over her head only to find…

EARS! Well, of course she had ears, that was silly, everyone had ears. But no one, she was sure, had ears quite like these. They felt short, and pointy, and much like the rest of her, furry. Clapping her hands over the abysmal growths, she let out a moan. This simply couldn't be happening! She did everything absolutely in accordance to the recipe. Not one ingredient had been mis-measured, left out, or substituted. She had painstakingly counted every stir, and kept the temperature of the caldron at precisely the correct temperature. The polyjuice should have been perfect!

This, however, was _far_ from perfect. Very, very far.

Holding her breath, she listened intently for any sound outside the stall door. She was quite sure that Ron and Harry had gone, but it was Myrtle she was worried about. If that shrill little (excuse her for saying) twit saw her in such a state she would never hear the end of it! Hermione hated to speak ill of someone who was…well, lacking in life, but the spirit made it quite hard to feel any sympathy towards her. There was a reason this lavatory was deserted, and Hermione should have known better than to disturb it. She slowly pushed open the door and stuck her head around the corner. Silence, blissful, pure silence. At least there was one thing working in her favor. Tentatively she crept out of the stall and made her way over to the sinks. The lighting was dim, and for that she was thankful, she didn't think she could stand to come face to face with the ghastly creature she had become. But she had to. Keeping her eyes on her feet, which luckily looked normal enough in her modest school shoes, she edged her way up to the mirrors.

"Okay Hermione," she murmured under her breath, "you can do this. No big deal, just face your fears-"

"Talking to yourself girlie? Don't you think you're already strange enough already?" Came a loud and horribly familiar screech echoing down from above her. Hermione cringed and hid her face in her hands as the transparent figure swooped down to jeer at her. Just as she had prayed wouldn't happen.

"Go away Myrtle!"

"Why should I go away, this is _my_ bathroom! If anyone should leave it should be you, you're the one who-whoa! What in Merlin's name happened to _you_!"

"None of your business. Leave me alone!" Ducking her head even lower, she hid her face with her forearms while attempting to cover her ears with her hands.

"Nooooo…" Myrtle whined, twirling around to land on a sink in front of Hermione. "I don't think I will. Now tell me, what are you hiding there?"

"Nothing."

"Hrrumph! No one tells me anything! Just because I'm dead, doesn't mean I can't see you know! It doesn't mean I'm stupid! "

Hermione made a low sound suspiciously similar to a hiss down deep in her throat. Myrtle scrunched her face in response.

"Well, if you won't tell _meeeee, _maybe you'll tell your little boyfriend." Her dead eyes glinted deviously…or at least as close to glinting as a ghost's eyes could get. Her mouth opened, and the most dreadful words poured out of it. "Oh RON!"

"SHUT UP!" Hermione screeched at the top of her lungs, throwing out her hands to grab wildly at the wispy girl. Myrtle, of course, dove swiftly out of her range and zoomed toward the ceiling, leaving Hermione face to face with her own mutilated reflection.

"Hmm, touchy about _that_, aren't we miss kitty?"

"Oh no!" Hermione moaned, reaching out to touch the glass. It was worse than she thought. Not only was her face furry and her ears pointy, but her eyes…oh her eyes were round! And green! And she had vertical pupils!

She was a cat!

"Aren't you a little old for dress-up?"

"Please stop." She said, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glued to the mirror in disbelief.

"Oh don't worry about it, I'm sure your darling little red-head will hold your hand on the way to the infirmary." Myrtle taunted from her place on high.

"Don't. You. Dare."

The ghost only giggled, but Hermione was growing red faced…under her fur of course.

"I'm serious Myrtle. You leave Ron out of this!"

"Why? Do you loooove him?"

"No! Of course not! He's my friend, that's all."

"So is the Potter boy. Do you care if he sees you all purr-fect?"

"No, I mean, yes, I mean…I don't want anyone to see me like this! Not even you! So go away!"

"So grumpy! Tsk, tsk…" Myrtle floated down to hover behind Hermione, staring over her shoulder so that their eyes met in the mirror. "Why the sour puss? Is it this freckled boy that has your whiskers in a twist?"

"Myrtle, don't you have anything better to do?" She snarled, trying to shirk away from the phantom peering over her.

"Oh _loads!_" She shot back, lips drawn up viciously and making her look even uglier than usual. "Lessons and tea parties and Quidditch and…oh wait, that's right, I can't do any of that. I'm _dead_, you ungrateful little prat!"

"_Myrtle!"_

"_Hermione!"_

The two girls, one living one, the other…not so much, remained locked in stare for a good minute, neither willing to be the first to look away. Finally, a door slammed not too far off and the noise of raucous footsteps thundered in their direction. Hermione's strange eyes grew wide with fright and Myrtle's narrowed treacherously.

"Please…" Hermione offered a futile plea over her shoulder to the ghost as she darted back into her stall. But of course, it was of no use. Myrtle was already off and soaring in the opposite direction.

"**Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. It's awful-"

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_Sorry about the back-to-back bathroom scenes, I totally didn't mean for it to end up like that I forgot that Hermione runs to the bathroom after Ron makes fun of her in HPSS, so I actually wrote the whole thing in her dorm room and had to go back and re-do it. Next one though, no toilets, I promise..I think. I'm nervous about writing young Hermione, I'm not quite sure I remember how a pre-teen talks. Suggestions, flame, critiques and praise…all welcome!_


	3. Prisoners

_Third time's the charm?_

_Hmm, well I guess you guys will have to be the judge of that. I've been dragging my feet as far as writing goes, but a yucky cold and a gloomy, cold, rainy, gray day (mmm, my favorite…seriously) (the weather, not the illness, of course. Who has a favorite illness?) landed me in bed with my laptop in my…well, lap. So with my cat at one side and a roll of toilet paper at the other (my nose is running like a faucet) I attempt to churn out another chapter._

_Let's see how this goes.

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_**HARRY POTTER AND PRISONER OF AZKABAN  
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"**If Scabbers hadn't just been **_**eaten**_**, he could have had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to real like them-"**

**Hermione burst into tears. Before Harry could say or do anything, she tucked the enormous book under her arm, and, still sobbing, ran toward the staircase to the girls dormitories and out of sight.**

She was shaking by the time she threw open the door and stumbled into her room. Whether it was from the force of her tears, her frustration with Ron, or the sheer exhaustion of this whole ordeal, she wasn't entirely sure… and she didn't feel that analyzing the subject at the moment would do a thing to help the state of her nerves. Whatever the case may be, she did not like the feeling one bit.

All of these emotions, and so, so many more, were shooting through her as she stood there trembling in the doorway for a long moment, clenching and unclenching her hands rhythmically. Her tears made no sign of lessening at all, and that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach felt like it could just about touch her knees. Finally, just sick of it all, she stomped her foot emphatically on the old wooden flooring. Feeling slightly and strangely pleased by the 'thump' her shoe had made, she repeated the act once more, this time throwing in a rather guttural utterance of a word she would have (and had) thoroughly chastised Ron for using. She could see why he liked to say it though, the phrase did have a certain ring to it…ugh, and there she went again! This type of thinking, the _Ron_ type of thinking, was going to get her nowhere! Throwing her hands up to press the heels of her palms into her eyes, she let out a woeful sigh, feeling as though she might as well just sink to the floor and finish this cry right here in a crumpled mess of arms and legs. It certainly would feel dramatic to her, but would probably prove less effective here than it did on tv, since there was no one else to witness it. Oh wait. Oh dear…and just like that, as soon as she had let her breath out, she inhaled again sharply, her momentary satisfaction overwhelmed by embarrassment. Honestly, what was she thinking, coming in here and making a scene before checking to see if she was alone first? This was Hogwarts, not some glitzy American sitcom, and she was by no means the glamorous star of the show. She was only Hermione Jean Granger, and it wasn't as if she were the only girl to live in this room…a fact that she was painfully aware of more times than not.

"Hello?" She called out tentatively, dropping her hands to hang limply down at her sides. Her voice gave out the telltale warble of tears when she spoke, and she hated how obvious she sounded. To her utter dismay, her flimsy greeting brought forth just the sort of results she had been dreading, bringing a rather uneasy looking Pavarti out of hiding. Nervously, the dark-haired girl poked her head from behind her own bed curtains, where she must had been changing her clothes for the party.

"Oh, umm…hi Hermione." She said, trying (and failing miserably) to look anywhere and everywhere but at her dorm mate's tear-stained face. "I was just…leaving? The party…in the common room? Umm…did you want to come with me?"

Hermione didn't trust herself to speak; she felt all the more pathetic under Pavarti's reluctant gaze and could sense her throat tightening yet again. Instead she merely shook her head slowly from side to side, conveying the message that, 'no, she didn't _quite_ feel in the mood for a party at the moment, but thanks for asking' without having to utter a word. Appearing thoroughly relieved, Pavarti nodded eagerly in agreement and darted out of the room with a few rushed words of farewell and the slam of the door as quickly as her feet could carry her, leaving Hermione alone in an instant. Though she was grateful for the solitude (which, after all, was what she had been after in the first place, hadn't it?) Hermione was also painfully aware of the fact that she had yet again managed to run off peer with little to no effort. As if she wasn't talented enough already…

Biting back a miserable moan, the curly-haired girl kicked off her shoes and stumbled over to her bed before falling face first into its cushy embrace. She lay that way for longer than she cared to admit, toes still hanging off the bed and weeping in a muffled sort of way into her covers for one reason or another, until her eyes were red and raw. The mattress next to her sunk down slightly, and she realized she had forgotten about the presence of another, much more welcome, creature in the room. Rolling onto her back, Hermione cuddled Crookshanks to her chest, still sniffling a bit as he proceeded to lick the salty residue from her tears off of her face. It didn't take long for the sandpaper texture of his small pink tongue began to scrape painfully at her tender skin, and she had to blow in the cat's face to make him stop. Regarding her with a somewhat haughty expression (moreso than was his usually haughty expression, that is) Crooks resigned to grooming his own ginger fur and allowed Hermione to stroke his ears softly. The movements were simple and soothing for them both, and they allowed Hermione to become lost in her thoughts as her companion fell asleep. As she petted him, an idea had begun to sneak up on her, one she did not like to consider in the least. It was ridiculously and completely untrue, born of predisposed prejudices and circumstantial…well, maybe the evidence wasn't _entirely_ circumstantial, but that didn't make it true! Just because all logical and practical reasoning appeared to point to one clear-cut solution didn't mean…

It was with a tangible sense of dread that Hermione drew herself up to a sitting position. Sometimes, she simply hated being so sensible-minded.

"Crooks? Hey, wake up." She said softly, cringing slightly at the sense of unease settling over her. This was completely foolish, of course, talking to a cat and all…wasn't it? She talked to him occasionally, sure, but it was just the usual compliments and cooing that normal pet owners do. This, on the other hand, was a whole other kettle of fish.

She lay a hand on his back and ruffled his fur, her fingers furrowing into his orange coat and setting the hairs out of sorts. This got the cat's attention, and disdainfully he lifted his squashed face to regain her through barely open eyes. 'This had better be worth it,' their yellow depths seemed to say.

Hermione smiled apologetically and smoothed his coat back down the way he (and all other cats, really) liked it. Continuing on with the petting motion, she swallowed thickly before beginning. "Umm, Crooks? You didn't…you wouldn't…you haven't eaten Scabbers have you?"As soon as the words left her mouth she felt terribly guilty for uttering them. Crookshanks was her own cat after all, how dare she accuse him of such a thing? Especially after she had defended him so vehemently to Ron…but then she caught herself and just felt silly. He was only a cat, after all, it wasn't as if he could understand what she was saying.

But there was something in the way that he looked at her then that made her pause mid-stroke. Laying his ears back flat against his skull, he stared at her. Or rather, glared at her. Apologetically she scratched him in his favorite spot, right under his chin, and the words began to tumble out of her mouth. "Because, you know, I would understand if you had. I mean, it's only natural! You're a cat, he's a rat…these things happen! And Scabbers wasn't the nicest of creatures, if something _did_ happen, I'm sure he start-" However, before she could finish the though, Crookshanks abruptly removed himself from under her hand. Ears still back, he stood up and shook himself out disdainfully, padding softly over the covers and down to the foot of the bed without so much as a backwards glance. Here he made himself comfortable by turning around three times before settling down on his stomach once more. This time he was facing away from her.

Without realizing what she was doing, or how ridiculous she looked doing it, Hermione clasped her hands under her chin and began to plead with the cat, her stomach tightening with remorse."Oh Crooks! I know you didn't do it, honest I do! Please don't be mad at me! It's just…well your hair was …and you didn't get along very well with…" Wait, this was not the direction she meant to be going in. "But it's not like you are the only cat with orange fur here, there are loads of them! And who said it had to be a _real_ cat anyway? Maybe somebody polyjuiced themselves into a cat to frame you! It's possible, trust me!" She paused for a moment to shudder involuntarily at the memory. A thousand possibilities presented themselves to her, and she help hope bubbling up inside her as she expressed them with vigor. "Or, you know, I bet Scabbers just ran away. Yeah, that's probably what really happened. Ron isn't the best owner anyway, he's always keeping that rat all cooped up, he probably just wanted a change of scenery. Ron's incessant…well, '_Ron-ness'_ is just about too much for anyone to bear, much less-"

"Umm…Hermione?"

In an instant her face blanched and she dropped her hands. Her heart was pounding, but when she spoke her voice was subdued. "Hello Pavarti."

"I was just...forgot my…" The girl waved her hand in the general vicinity of her bed, eyes wide and glued to her strange dorm mate.

"Jumper?" She offered.

"Yeah…"

"Were you cold?" Hermione asked hopefully, trying to change the subject to one Pavarti was more interested in. Like herself.

But the girl would not be deterred. "A bit…err, Hermione are you okay?"

"Fine. Excellent. Why do you ask?" She said, her eyes narrowing, challenging.

"No reason." Pavarti looked as though she were considering something. "Well, come to think of it, Ron did say…nevermind."

"Ron?" She couldn't help it. She perked up. "What did Ron say? Tell me."

He-" Pavarti started, but then seemed to think better of it and shook her head. "Nothing, it doesn't matter. "

"Why? What –"Hermione started, but stopped short at the pitying look Pavarti gave her. Her stomach (and her pride) churned at it, and she could guess that whatever Ron had to say about her, it wasn't particularly friendly. Her spirits dropped and her gaze turned steely. This Pavarti noticed.

"Yeah, well, I guess I'll just be getting back to the party then…" She said, gathering her jumper and eying the door longingly. She seemed torn between comforting her 'friend' and returning to the festivities. She was leaning heavily towards the latter.

"Goodnight." Hermione replied none too warmly, making her own opinion on the subject clear as she stared a hole in the wall just past Pavarti's head. Pavarti sighed, feeling guilty.

"He's just a boy Hermione, he doesn't-"

"Good. Night." And there was no mistaking her tone.

So the girl shrugged her shoulders and left without another word. As soon as the door shut, Hermione reached behind her and took hold of her pillow, heaving it at the frame with all her strength. It was soft so didn't make the sort of satisfying sound her stomping had, but it was better than nothing. Directing her glare to the foot of her bed, she met Crookshank's gaze dead on. Apparently, the cat had decided that his owner was now worthy of his attention, and had been eying her intently during the duration of the two girl's conversation.

"You know Crooks, just in case we ever do find Scabbers alive, I want you to know you have my full permission to do with that loathsome boy's rat as you see fit. You just go ahead and eat him, and Ron can see if I care!"

And with that, she burst into tears. Again.

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_So...Pavarti is one of Hermione's dorm mates, right? I wasn't sure but didn't feel like researching so I just went with it. Ehh, feel free to flame if I'm mistaken. Oh, and the tv reference at the beginning is from an episode of MSCL when Angela drops to her knees while crying in her room then proceeds to curl up in a ball on the floor and sob. I think it's a wonderfully angsty scene, and evidently so does Hermione. Yeah...oh, readers beware, I believe Hermione will be crying in the next chapter too..she certainly does a lot of that doesn't she?_


	4. Goblets

_Been awhile, hasn't it?_

_Over a year, actually. Dunno If anyone is still reading this, but...  
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_I miss R/Hr. I am equally thrilled to see their romance come to life onscreen next month and dreading the series coming to a close. O__h HP universe, only you could make me wait 7 books for one measly kiss…how I shall miss you…__Sigh, at least I still have fanfiction._

_Let's try this again, shall we?_

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**HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE**

**"I can't come with you," said Hermione, now blushing, "because I'm already going with someone." **

**"No, you're not!" said Ron. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!" **

**"Oh **_**did**_** I?" said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one **_**else**_** has spotted I'm a girl!"**

She couldn't believe she actually said it.

Well, that wasn't quite accurate. Of course she _believed_ it. She had heard herself say the words loud and clear, and she wasn't a hallucinating kind of girl. She said loads of things to Ron, he pulled so many idiotic stunts and spit forth such inconsiderate statements that barely a day went by that she didn't have to speak up and correct his invalid point of view. But still, even though she did call Ron out on his antics almost constantly, these words, in this context…this was different. This was a turning point, she was almost certain. This was something that had hung in the air between them ever since she had told him he had dirt on his face in that stuffy train compartment (quite boyish of him, she had noticed even then). This was what drew the line in their friendship, what meant that they would never have quite the same relationship as he and Harry did.

Sex. Her sex, in particular, the fairer one. One that he tried to pretend she didn't belong to, and she had tried to ignore as well. Androgyny just made things less…complicated.

But not anymore.

She didn't regret her words though, not in the very least. It was the truth, and such information was bound to come out at some point or another. After all, you didn't have to be top of the class to notice a few anatomical differences between her and her constant companions. Her chest might not be much, but for heaven's sake it was more than what Harry had! Not that she wanted anyone looking at her chest or anything, but...err, well it was just an example. Something most people would quickly categorize as a feminine characteristic. But some people didn't, obviously. People who, let's say, weren't _quite_ at the top of the class. In the past, the fact that Ronald Weasley saw her as nothing more than a walking, talking textbook had left her both sobbing and smoldering for hours in turn, but now that she had voiced her opinion…she couldn't believe she actually _said _it.

It felt amazing.

The feeling buoyed her up as she made her way back to the girls' dormitories, putting a particularly girlish spring in her step. Now that things were out in the open…might as well go all out, right? She smiled, replaying the scenario in her mind with a vengeance. It was almost as though she could see the empowering words as they flew from her mouth, lit up like fiery little arrows of truth whilst they launched their attack on Ron. She imagined them lodging in his head, sparking on the dried tinder of his underused brain and working their way into a slow blaze through his subconscious. When the flames grew high enough and the smoke thick enough to cloud his vision, the result was a stunned look of recognition spreading across his freckled face that he failed miserably at disguising as confusion. The words had left a delicious little tingle on her tongue, and feeling emboldened she slid it seductively across her teeth, ducking her head in embarrassment at the bold gesture while simultaneously revealing in the freedom it brought. Glancing around the empty corridor around her and spotting no one, she lifted her head and repeated the action, smiling.

What would Ron think if he could see her now?

The thought, edged with scared little girl logic of the sharpest kind, pricked a hole in her newfound bravado instantly. She felt her borrowed sense of confidence give a wheeze of defeat as it deflated through the puncture. Attempting naivety, she asked herself where _that_ kind of idea had come from, but the question, if she had voiced it aloud, would have fooled no one. She knew the answer all too well, and had for longer than she cared to admit. Though she tried her best to hide the unwelcome knowledge behind books and parchment and trivial facts (all of which fit much more neatly into her world) she found it was of no use. Thinking of him, only him, always him, had become a habit by now. One, unfortunately, that she had groomed quite well in the past four years or so. She didn't like it one bit, and she tried her best to fight the tendency, but still he popped up in the back of her mind at the most inopportune of circumstances. Harry's voice chided at her sometimes as well, but much less often and in a way that affected her quite differently. She tried not to dwell on it.

Because…because well why should she? She meant every word she had said. Ron couldn't keep treating her like some annoying little sister he kept around out of pity and expect her to stay within arms reach whenever he needed her. Because when did he ever _need_ her anyway? To help him with (or, to put it more accurately, let him copy) his homework? To back him up when he said something remarkable stupid in a completely inappropriate situation? To provide him with a female form at the ball with when all other girls with half a brain had run shrieking in the opposite direction? Ha! If that was how she needed her then he would just have to learn how to memorize his own charms and watch his own mouth and dance with…(she shuddered, involuntarily, and did not complete the thought). It wasn't as if she needed…him…

Really, Viktor was rather nice, once one got to know him. She felt poorly for the unkind remarks she had made about him earlier, but that was when the only contact they had had was when she had caught him glaring at her from across the Great Hall. At the time, she had thought that he was using his blatant stare as a means of trying to intimidate her because of her friendship with Harry, but as it turned out he just wasn't too subtle with his attention. He found her in the library a few nights ago, and…he had told her…well, he had told her she was pretty, alright! She was a girl, this much had been established, and girls did like to hear that every once in awhile, didn't they! She was allowed that much, wasn't she! Just because certain _people_ where painfully unaware of this fact didn't make it any less true, and she couldn't help it if his words were a smidge hard to distinguish, because after he repeated himself the third or fourth time she was sure that was what he said. He was sweet (Viktor, of course), and when he asked her to the ball she couldn't very well likely say no, could she? She didn't have any reason to reject his offer, she didn't have any other options for the night, did she? No…no, she didn't.

But she would be lying if she said that there wasn't the slightest bit of hesitation in her acceptance.

Luckily, Viktor didn't seem to notice. He was sweet…but not the most perceptive guy out there. She was kind of used to that at this point though.

She had reached the Fat Lady now, and shook her head to clear her thoughts. It did little to help, but with everything racing around inside her brain she hadn't really expected it to. Absentmindedly she muttered the password, feeling frustrated with her own moodiness and determined to snap out of it. The tingle in her tongue was gone, but she tried her best to get that spring back in her step as she entered the Gryffindor common room. It was only a few moments ago that she had been almost skipping down the corridor, hadn't it? She did have a date for the Yule Ball, after all, and Ron Weasley didn't. The thought caused the corners of her lips to twitch upward. Oh, how his jaw would drop when he saw Viktor and her together! Poor Ron, all alone while she danced the night away with a world-famous Quidditch player, one of the best…well, she couldn't quite remember what position he played, but whatever it was she heard he was quite good at it. Pride bubbled up inside her, and while she knew it was a terribly unattractive emotion, this sort of vanity was unknown to her and she took her chance to revel in it. Her grin grew broader, and she held her head high as she passed a group of girls clustered around a muggle fashion magazine in front of the fireplace. She and Ginny had a few of those stashed away for themselves, and when she confided in the younger girl about her mystery date she had promised to help Hermione get ready for the occasion, claiming to know a potion that would work wonders on her hair. She already had a magnificent dress from being a bridesmaid in her cousin's wedding over the summer, which was good, because on Viktor's arm she was certain to attract loads of attention. Almost every girl in the school, Hogwarts pupils and guests alike, would love to be in her high-heeled shoes on the night of the Ball.

But, it was with a sighing sense of realization that she couldn't keep at bay any longer, she knew was probably the only one who didn't.

No, no matter how she tried play him up in her mind, the honest truth of the matter was that she simply had no romantic interest in Viktor Krum. He certainly was a nice young man, but there was no fooling her subconscious into thinking that there was anything deeper than friendship in her feelings for him. It knew that there was only one boy she wanted to attend the ball with, one who, until now, evidently had never even seen her as real, live _girl_. She had taken her time giving Viktor an answer, hoping that maybe…but no, given the nature of R-, err, his question today, she was glad she hadn't waited any longer on _him_ to come to his senses. It wouldn't be worth it, to go as someone's last-resort guest. She would have poured herself into getting and ready and he wouldn't have noticed. She would have spent the night standing awkwardly between Harry and him while they filled their stomachs with punch and sweets and made fun of the people who were actually enjoying themselves. She would have stared wistfully out at the dance floor while other girls were twirled about in dizzying delight, but he never would have asked her to dance.

Viktor was a good dancer. Viktor would surely compliment her on her outfit. And Viktor would enjoy her company and make sure she had a good time.

She would have a good time, in spite of Ron Weasley. She would be a _girl_, and wear ruffles and do her hair and wear make-up and dance and giggle and…

And maybe he would notice.

Hermione didn't let the thought get her down this time. After all, living well _was_ the best revenge.

* * *

_YAY, she didn't even cry this time! Got pretty down in the dumps, it's true, but no actual tears!  
_


	5. Orders

_I have pretty much given up on completing this fic. Reviews have waned considerably, and in direct proportion so has my motivation. _

_It simply isn't any fun to write a story if no one is reading it! _

_However, I'm a sucker for attention of the literary kind, and the darling EStrunk (check it) has been kind enough to grace me with loads of lovely feedback, and requested that I finish what I started. And since I know what it is like to love a story that has been abandoned ('So Close' by The Good Girl, check it) I decided to comply with her wishes. _

_OotP, as I have mentioned before, is probably my least favorite book, and definitely my least favorite movie. Not a lot of R/Hr going on here, which made writing this even more of a challenge. Well, this is what I came up with. _

Here goes nothing...

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**HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX**

"**Well, actually…no, Ron, " said Hermione with a heavy sigh, putting down her book and looking at him apologetically. "As a matter of fact, the only bit of the match Harry and I saw was Davies first goal."**

**Ron's carefully ruffled hair seemed to wilt with disappointment.**

"**You didn't watch? He said faintly, looking from one to the other. "You didn't see me make any of those moves?"**

They missed it? The whole thing? Well, practically the whole thing, at least all the good stuff. All the "Ron" stuff, which actually _was _good this time (for a change). Not that they would know, that is, how good he had been, since they hadn't even seen him in action. But, the question remained, why? What had been so important that they had ditched the most important (at least, that was what it had turned out to be) game of the year? It didn't make any sense, at least not in Harry's case. Ron didn't know anyone who loved the sport more, it must have taken the dark lord himself to pull his pal away from such a match! He knew Hermione wasn't the biggest fan of Quiditch, but she had never missed any of Harry's games…

In one split-second, he felt his chest tighten in an uncomfortable and yet familiar way. It was building inside him quickly, that ugly green wave of jealousy, gathering speed and strength while threatening to crash at any moment.

Harry and Hermione…leaving the game…together.

Alone.

Maybe, just maybe, it hadn't been house loyalty that had her cheering Gryffindor on all those years.

He had looked for her, for them both, rather, at the height of his winning euphoria, but he hadn't seen her-them, that is. His teammates were all over him, clapping him on the back, slinging their arms around his shoulders, and, at one point, lifting him up into the air to shout the revised chorus to "Weasley is Our King" with raucous enthusiasm. All his teammates sans one, of course, the one whose praise he desired most. He had congratulated Harry on wins countless times, and he didn't think it was unreasonable to have the favor returned at least this once. And receiving one of those celebratory hugs he'd seen Hermione give his best mate on such an occasion wouldn't have been too terrible either. Looking into the stands, he scoured the mob to find a head of black hair accompanied by one of unruly chestnut curls headed towards him jubilantly, but with utter disappointment found he could not. At the time, though, he had not doubted their attendance, he only figured that they had blended in with the masses. The crowd had been out-of-control, the stands a dizzying blur of maroon and gold as Gryffindor took to their feet with a frenzied passion, shouting and stomping and waving house flags wildly. He had made out Luna's ridiculous headdress, standing a head above the rest and roaring ferociously in triumph, but failed to locate his usually constant companions at her side.

Now he knew why.

And the realization made him sick.

He wondered why he had never seen it before, how he had overlooked something which now seemed completely and utterly apparent? Had there been signs, hints as to a budding romance between his friends that he had naively overlooked? That article by Rita Skeeter last year, he had brushed it off so dismissively…obviously, a mistake. The twins must have been right all along, he truly was an idiot, how else could he have been so blindsided by this fact? Of _course_ they weren't at the game, he certainly hadn't seen them there, had he? What else had he thought had caused their failure to congratulate him on such a spectacular win along with the rest of his classmates? It wasn't as if they had decided to pop into the library for a moment or anything…

Though on second hand, maybe they had. It would be quite deserted at the time, what with everyone else out on the Quidditch pitch. Not likely for anyone to disturb them there.

It must have been too good an opportunity to pass up, a chance to sneak off alone together while the field was in an uproar. Surely they couldn't imagine their luck at the timing. No one would notice their absence, because no one was paying Harry Potter any mind for once, a rare opportunity indeed. Because for one fleeting moment, the boy who lived wasn't the center of attention. It was his side-kick who got the glory this time…but of course, Potter got the girl.

Because Hermione was a girl, after all. The Yule Ball and that obviously charmed purple dress had shown Ron that much. Obviously, it had opened Harry's eyes to the same. And all of the sudden, Ron wanted nothing more than to snap those stupid glasses in two and to push his one-time best mate back into blindness once more.

But he didn't, and the glasses stayed intact while Harry unconsciously pushed them up the bridge of his nose.

They looked incredibly guilty, the two of them. Harry seemed distracted, his mind preoccupied, no doubt, with whatever events that had occurred between the two of them earlier. Events Ron had absolutely no interest in ever, ever hearing about. Unless it was to tell him how much they regretted it, and even then, he didn't need details. Hermione's face was stretched tight, a pained look drawn on her expression. He recognized the look, and he didn't like it. Pity, surely that was what she was feeling right now. Poor ickle Ronniekins, all alone…His jaw clenched of its own accord. He had just led the Gryffindor Quidditch team to a most sought after victory, he was not one to be pitied.

"**Well-no," said Hermione, stretching out a placatory hand toward him. "But Ron, we didn't want to leave-we had to!"**

Sure. They _had_ to. They just couldn't bear to spend another moment apart from one another. The thought revolted him, and he took a half step back, shifting his body just out of range of her outstretched hand. He couldn't stand for that hand to touch him, not now. Not after where he was sure it had been.

"**Yeah?" said Ron, whose face was growing rather red. "How come?"**

He didn't want an answer to that, not really. He wasn't sure how the words came out of his mouth, because he certainly hadn't meant for them to. He had been there for them, both of them, time in and time out. He had sacrificed himself on a chessboard, risked his life in a disgusting snake pit, defended the both of them against teasing over scars and buck teeth alike, and this was how they repaid him.

How dare they?

Didn't they know what this would do to their trio? How romance would warp the boundaries of their friendship? Sure, he might not have any other friends who were girls besides Hermione, but he had brothers, and he knew what happened when guys and girls pushed the boundaries of friendship into something more. The results were almost always completely disastrous. Mum still asked why Tonks didn't like to stay at the Burrow for tea after dropping off information on the Order, hadn't she and Charlie been so close back in school? What happened?

Ron knew what happened, what turned their camaraderie from stealing one another's dessert to stealing terribly awkward glances, but he wasn't about to tell his mother about _that_ three letter word. And he most certainly he did not care to think about such things in reference to Harry and Hermione (together), thank you very much.

Because, after all, it was their friendship that he was worried about. He didn't give a flying knut if Harry and Hermione decided to become boyfriend and girlfriend! Why should he? He didn't care if they fell madly in love and got married and had loads and loads of brats with green eyes and bushy hair and egos the size of Hagrid's mother! They could just live happily ever after if they wanted, see if he cared! But there was no way in hell that he was going to be the best man. Ha! That would show them, he would like to see _Neville_ try to throw a proper bachelor party!

Probably have it at a bloody plant nursery, wouldn't he…

They could just go off and ruin the best thing they had going for them, and he wouldn't do a thing to stop them! Not that they would listen to him anyway, it wasn't as if they had given his position in the matter any consideration. And where would Harry go for Christmas now, hmm? Because it certainly wouldn't do to have them both at the Burrow, not that they were _together_. They would probably pretend nothing had changed, skirting around the mistletoe and denying that there was anything going on, until BAM-he caught them snogging each others faces into oblivion in the pantry…or the attic…or behind the garden shed…he shuddered, as dozens of intimate alcoves jumped to the forefront of his mind.

Alcoves that he had never, _ever_ imagined dragging her off into himself.

Hardly. Gross.

(And he was probably sure Fred and George had put one of their experiments into his tea that night, anyway. And dreams didn't mean anything. Gross.)

They were talking, rather emphatically actually, but the words were falling on deaf (and fevered) ears. Ron had no interest in listening to their lies, in hearing the phony excuses for their inexcusable absence. Oh, what, had Harry seen yet _another_ dementor? Had he rushed off to expel it with his lovely patronus, bringing Hermione along so that she could provide him with a proper reminder of happiness…with her mouth!

Or possibly, had Hermione spotted a sad little litter of house elves outside the castle, attempting to rid the forbidden forest of overgrown weeds? Had she felt the overwhelming need to run ff and go knit them all those ridiculous hats for a chance to give them their freedom? If so, then it only made sense that Harry come along to hold her yarn for her.

But then again, maybe they weren't lying. Maybe they were telling him the truth. Maybe they were admitting to their newly discovered and wildly passionate love for one another, right in front of his freckled face! How they had both felt like that blasted little prat cupid had sent a bludger straight to their hearts at the start of the game, and with that being the case, they couldn't possibly control themselves a moment longer, and had no choice but to act immediately upon their carnal urges. Was that what they were telling him?

It was quite possible that he could vomit, right here and now, on both of them.

He wondered what Umbridge's stance on public displays of affection was. Surely, she wouldn't tolerate these vile shenanigans at Hogwarts. With that much he could agree with her on. He might not have been witness to said debauchery (thank Merlin), but he was quite positive that if he had, it would have been, in fact, be quite vile. Ole Toadface would have to do something about it surely, though of course he couldn't tell her himself…but he could probably let it slip in front of one of her inquisitors.

Hmm…

Wait…what did Hagrid have to do with all of this?

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_Like I said, OotP didn't give me much to work with. I was simultaneously watching the movie and flipping through the book when I came to the scene in the film where the trio meets Grawp for the first time. I just love Ron's bit of chivalry when the giant snatches up Hermione (duh), but totally forgot that in the book Ron doesn't even accompany the other two on this excursion. So I started thinking, what would he have thought if Ron hadn't seen Hermione at the game? Just where would his mind have wandered…well, here, evidently. Is there another scene you guys would have chosen if you were writing this? And be sure to check out my shameless plugs from the foreword!  
_


	6. Princes

_Ahh, reviews…how I have missed you!_

_I can't tell you how appreciative I am of everyone's kind words! It means a great deal to me to hear what opinions on this silly little thing, the good, the bad and the ugly! Thank you so much!  
_

_But now enough of my gushing, lets get on to the good stuff (because to a RHr fanatic, HBP has a lot of that). I do love this book dearly, though if does play third fiddle to DH and GOF… I mean, hello there mind-boggling romantic tension, so nice to see you!_

Almost there!

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**HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE**

"**Then the poisoner didn't know Slughorn very well," said Hermione, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding as though she had a bad head cold. "Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself."**

"**Er-my-nee" Ron croaked unexpectedly from between them.**

**They all fell silent, watching him anxiously, but after muttering incomprehensibly for a moment he merely started snoring.**

The sound made Harry smile. After all, Ron had never been one to snore delicately.

Ron's rhythmic exhalations leveled off, undisturbed by even Hagrid's loud entrance. The even rumble became a reassuring background noise as the crowd assembled at his bedside delved back into their exchange of ideas. It wasn't long before they were entirely wrapped up in their conversation and had forgotten all about the simple sound he made moments ago. Why shouldn't they? Ron was undeniably unconscious, and had only made a meaningless mumble in the back of his throat. Dream-induced slurs were not a cause for any particular concern, not when there was so much else left unanswered. Instead they turned their focus to the cause of his hospitalization, and found themselves deep in the midst of a discussion regarding the who's and what's and why's of how poisoned mead found its way into the boy's system. Harry, Ginny, Fred, George and Hagrid had plenty of opinions on the subject, and yet, something was lacking. One voice, one typically loud and very opinionated voice, remained silent. It was as if s he were deaf to any sound other than those that came from his mouth, her eyes glued to his face and her hands knotted tightly in her lap. As it was, she remained oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room except the two of them. Her mind was buzzing, replaying that garbled utterance over and over again in her head.

That wasn't…he hadn't…

Had he?

She shivered involuntarily. The tremor had little to do with the cold, but she felt Ginny sling an arm around her stooped shoulders, bringing her back to reality.

And in her reality, Ron didn't say her name…not anymore.

She couldn't help the sigh that escaped her. No, she assured herself as she leaned heavily against her friend, it couldn't be. Surely she was imagining things, twisting what must have been just an inaudible groan into something her sleep-deprived ears longed to hear. That was most definitely what had happened, she was completely exhausted, and her ears were playing tricks on her. It was to be expected, what with every fiber in her being so weary. The only thing keeping her from collapsing (besides that cavernous yearning to stay as close to Ron as possible) was the caffeine lingering in her veins from the coffee Winky had brought them hours ago. Her body ached with the physical demands of going almost thirty-six hours without sleep, and also with the emotional drain of spending so many of those hours in tears. She hadn't been able to sleep hardly at all last night, even before she found out what had happened to him. Sleep had become quite difficult to obtain ever since Ron had taken up with that insufferable twit she shared a dorm with. A twit whose favorite pastime (other than snogging certain people's ex-best friends) was talking about it in front of them, loudly, and for hours. And last night had been no exception to that. There was the usual sleep-disrupting torment of Lavender and her incessant gossiping chatter with Pavarti, but even after they had completely exhausted the intimate details of just how her dormmate planned to celebrate her boyfriend's upcoming birthday, Hermione found her mind was still gripped with unease.

Birthday? Oh no…Christmas had been hard enough, and they hadn't even been around each other! Now tomorrow (well, today, now) was his birthday and she had absolutely no idea how to deal with it, due to their current…circumstances. Sure they weren't even making eye contact, but how could she ignore the occasion, and for the first time in six years of friendship not wish him a Happy Birthday? She had been cold since he had taken up with Lavender, but that…that was positively icy. She already had his present, for Pete's sake, had purchased it at the beginning of the term, long before any of this mess had begun. What was she supposed to do with it now? She had pondered the dilemma into the wee hours of the morning, and as the sun peaked over the horizon she was torn between leaving it unaddressed outside his dorm, and giving it to Dobby. When her lids finally drifted closed, she was leaning towards the latter.

When day broke just moments later, it wasn't the light of sunrise that forced her awake. It was Ginny, rushing into her room and slamming the door behind her loudly, bringing the awful news with a terrible panic evident in her trembling voice. The girls had flown to the infirmary at once, and had been there ever since. Madam Pomfrey hadn't allowed them in until hours later, but along with Harry the new trio had kept their posts vigilantly. Ginny had nodded off for a bit, her head propped up on Harry's shoulder, but Hermione had kept her eyes wide, trained on the door the led to Ron. So to say she was tired was an understatement. Really, she might as well have been dead on her feet-

No.

As soon as the word entered her mind, it gave a painful spark and burst into flame. Because she wasn't _dead_…because that was-Ron was-he almost…

She felt her heart give a dreadful little lurch, the same kind she had been experiencing all night.

It still hurt just as much now as it had the first time.

Ron, _her_ Ron, her freckled, obnoxious, terrible git of a friend, was almost killed last night! He had literally been dying! Who was to say how much longer he could have lasted, had Harry not been there? She felt her eyes fill with tears at the thought yet again. Somehow, this incident seemed so very different from all the other times they had come close to meeting their untimely ends. She couldn't stop the image of him, dropping to the ground and convulsing wildly while the poison worked its way through him, from popped into her mind most unwelcome. He had had no idea, when he raised that glass to his lips, of the fatal threat it held within its depths. That was what had made it so much unlike the other times, this time he hadn't even had a chance to fight back, he had been so unaware, so defenseless.

Just like she was now. She clenched her hands, wringing the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. Never before had she ever felt so useless, all of her facts and figures couldn't have helped him in the least, had she been there…and yet she hadn't. She hadn't been there for him, not last night and not for so long. It hurt that deepest part of her heart, the reality that he had come so close to death and she hadn't even found out about it for hours. All the times before, she had been right there with him, facing peril alongside her best friends and probably ending up in a hospital bed herself. But somehow it wasn't so bad, wasn't so dangerous when the three of them were together. Was it possible that they would ever be like that again? After all, she hadn't even spoken to him since…oh, had it really been that long? What if he _had_ died? What if she had never been able to tell him…

She knew exactly what things she wanted to tell him, and exactly why it would never do to say any of them. He didn't want to hear any of it, that much he had made blatantly obvious. Looking back, it was probably for the best that they hadn't ended up attending Slughorn's party together. Her nerves had been an absolute jumbled mess from the moment he had accepted her invitation, and things only would have gotten worse as the night approached. She probably would have ended up gulping down too much butterbeer in her anxious anticipation, and as a result gotten a bit tipsy and spilled her feelings in an entirely inappropriate fashion. Feelings he was most certain to not reciprocate.

She barely even noticed the subtle coldness she felt when the girl next to her withdrew her arm. Ginny's attention, along with everyone else's focused entirely on a reasoning one of the twins had brought up. Hermione, however, was wrapped in her own analysis. Would it have been better? To sit at his side like this knowing that she had laid her heart bare to him, finally, even if he had rejected it?

Because he would have rejected it, wouldn't he? She had put herself out there when she had, for all intents and purposes, asked him out on a date, and that had been ultimately more terrifying than facing death eaters at the Ministry of Magic. And maybe it had been her imagination again, but it had almost seemed like he was looking forward to the occasion as well, hadn't it? However, that theory had been shot to hell in the days that followed, especially after that whole _commotion_ in the common room. Since then, he hadn't exactly been discrete in his preference of Lavender's company.

But then, if he really couldn't stand her, if she truly repulsed him so, what had that…that sound meant?

That is, if it had been any kind of a sound at all. Most certainly it hadn't been, but just in case…it sounded an awful lot like her name, she thought. And her name was rather distinct-sounding, wasn't it?

Had he seen her, perhaps? Not likely, his eyes were closed and probably rolled back under his lids, and he was completely out of touch with reality in his coma-like state. What then? Was it possible that he had heard her? He had given the utterance after she spoke, after all…maybe the sound of her voice infiltrated his subconscious? Could she really have such an impact on him?

Because he certainly had an impact on her, even if he was completely ignorant to it.

Her concentration was disrupted as Ron's mum and dad rushed into the room, both their eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. She felt guilty for her own irritation at being made to sit outside the room for so long, when his own parents hadn't been able to arrive until now. She felt Harry give a tug on her arm, and she knew it was time for the Weasley family to be alone together. She gave one final glance over her shoulder at the prone form lying motionless on the hospital bed as they made their way to the door. He would be well once more, that much she could be sure of. But whether _they_ could be as they once were…

Harry held the door open for her and gestured she go ahead of him. As she passed by, she felt him lean close to her ear and whisper,

"How are you holding up there, Er-my-nee?"

They would be how they were…and hopefully, more.

* * *

_I feel like I sort of copped out here, choosing such an obvious scene from this book. I had originally wanted to do Hermione confunding McLaggen at try-outs, but then we would have two back-to-back Quidditch chapters, and I think there should be a little change in scenery. Plus, this has got to be the ONLY scene in the entire series where I think that the movie improved upon the book. Because if Lavender had heard Ron say Hermione's name...oh, how delicious!  
_


	7. Hallows

_Well here we are…and to think there was a time I was sure this day would never come!_

_I must apologize, I have had this written and ready to post for some time now, but gave me an error message every time I tried tp post it! I *might* have gotten a tad frustrated(angry). But what is done is done, and here we are.  
_

_The last book…whew, so much pressure to pick the right scene, there are so many R/Hr moments! DH is my favorite installment (I took the day off work and read it in 24 wonderful, magical hours), and with it HP is pretty much the only series I've ever read where I can say the conclusion summed everything up just about perfectly. Of course, I would have loved at least __**one**__ more kiss…but if they jumped into their relationship at anything more than the pace of a sedated snail, well they just wouldn't be Ron and Hermione now, would they?_

_And oh, how I love them for it...  
_

_But here it is, the last tim__e Ron doesn't see Hermione. _

_Drumroll, please!_

_

* * *

_

**HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS**

**He watched as his six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for his privacy as they all began stripping off with impunity, clearly much more at ease with displaying his body than they would have been their own.**

"**I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo," said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.**

Hermione's gaze fluttered of its own accord to the chest in question, as one of the other Harrys before her stood squinting down at the flesh he now wore. The flesh they all wore, actually, since their consumption of the polyjuice potion. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her jumper over her head, smirking at the notion of her friend concealing a tattoo under his robes. Still, she felt the slightest twinge of curiosity, and to satisfy it she let her eyes scan over him. Just as she suspected, her search came up negative. Besides, wouldn't his teammates have already seen a tattoo in the locker room?

Unless, of course, the ink was hidden under the ill-fitting jeans he now wore, the likes of which were faded and much too long to fit Harry's frame (she would have known them anywhere). The material puddled comically at his feet, having nowhere to go now that their previous owner had reduced in size. She would have grinned at the sight, of Ron's clothes, meant for a much more lanky build, hanging so awkwardly on Harry's body. She would have teased him, made some sort of 'Alice In Wonderland' reference that he would not have gotten, giggling quietly to herself (her Harry-self) while throwing out a sigh of "Oh Ron" and exchanging a knowing glance with Harry (the real one). She would have, that is, if what was happening hadn't been happening. Because what was happening kind of threw any sort of rational thought out the window, and that just so happened to be Harry's hands reaching down to undo Ron's belt buckle.

Of course, it wasn't like _that_. But still…

She couldn't tear her gaze away, as much as the sensible girl somewhere at the back of her mind berated her with the absolute necessity to do so. She knew she was acting like a complete harlot, desperate for a glance at something she had no right in seeing, but try as she might, she couldn't steady her breathing, or stop her eyes from bulging and her knees from going weak. Any such effort was of no use. The spectacle she was witnessing from a few feet away was positively mesmerizing, drawing her in like a moth to the flame. She was blissfully thankful for Harry's poor eyesight, which blurred the details of the body she was focused on, making it almost seem as though the compact muscles were speckled with freckles and dusted in ginger hair. If she squinted, it really wasn't all that hard to imagine…oh, it was wrong but she couldn't help herself! It all played out like a slow motion repeat of a terribly warped dream sequence. The leather belt slipped from of the rectangular metal barrier which had previously contained it. The button was snapped. The fly began its downward descent. Oh goodness. Oh no (yesyesyes).

She was going to faint.

Ron was taking off his pants, right in front of her. And yes, they might have been Ron's pants, on Harry's body, after Ron's body had been turned into Harry's body, but…but…

They would be Ron's underwear, wouldn't they? Ronald Weasley's underwear, in the flesh! Not that she was exactly a stranger to his underclothing by now, she had helped Mrs. Weasley with the laundry enough times over the years to have seen them before, but this was something quite different. She found herself wondering with a sick fascination which pair he had chosen to wear to today. Odds were that they bore the emblem of the Chudley Cannons though, being as the majority of his possessions did, boxers included. But maybe he would throw her for a loop, maybe he had bought a new pair since last summer…though she doubted it. And then the jeans slipped a little more and there they were, her tongue threatening to poke out from between her lips as she caught sight of a bright orange waistband, vibrant even through the haze of her newly feeble vision.

Oh no, there was no way she was this lucky. Hermione knew that orange, could it be, had he truly chosen to wear his boxer briefs today? Her heart jumped to her throat as her breath began to speed up, tantalizingly, the jeans slid lower and-

"Hermione, CATCH!"

A trainer hit her square in the stomach, disrupting her show and catching her completely off guard. It knocked the breath right out of her, with its mate following shortly after before she had time to react or recover. All thoughts of Ron vanished from her mind as the shoes fell carelessly to the floor and she doubled over in pain, clutching at her middle.

"Owww!" She wheezed out in an inarticulate groan.

"Sorry!" Said a smiling Harry, deftly shoving his own feet into an identical pair without untying the laces. He smiled at her in apology, though his eyebrows waggled suggestively. Certainly a twin. "I didn't mean to hit you like that, it was an accident!"

Somehow, she doubted that. Regardless-

"It's alright," She replied a little sharply, her stomach still smarting. "I just didn't see you there. "

"Hmmm, yes, you certainly did seem a bit distracted there, didn't you? Wonder what could have kept you from noticing a pair of shoes hurtling towards you?" Those eyebrows got to waggling again. "I wouldn't have thrown them if I had known you wouldn't be able to catch."

Sometimes, people were just too observant for their own good. "I wasn't-"

"You thought Hermione could catch?" Harry's voice said, cutting her off and making her heart perform that troublesome little flip-flop in a way that the real Harry never did. "Obviously, you've never seen her play Quidditch. Or, should I say, _try_ to play Quidditch."

Disregard that somersaulting heart, this was the voice that exasperated her within an inch of her life.

Her mouth set into a scowl and she straightened up from her hunched position, lifting her head to face her tormentor. "Ron, I am perfectly capable of-"

Her speech cut off abruptly, her mouth going dry as she returned her gaze to the boy she had been staring at moments before. However, it was with extreme disappointment that she found him sliding a new belt into better fitting jeans that he had already fastened around his waist, underthings quite hidden by now. He was grinning at her, but she could not return the smile as a surge of sadness filled her and she lost her train of thought.

"Capable of what? Obviously not getting dressed by yourself. Did you need a hand with that? "

She was really starting to hate those twins, whichever one this was.

Hermione felt Harry's cheek flush red on her face. Of course, while she had been drooling over Ron stripping, she had completely forgotten to change her own clothes. Now everyone else was practically finished dressing and here she had barely begun! Glancing around the room, her eyes were met with a sea of raven-hair, bespectacled boys, laughing with one another and shoving their own things back into the packs. In a room full of similarity, Hermione's Harry (still dressed in a form-fitting T-shirt and uncomfortably snug jeans) stuck out painfully. And the starry-eyed look she had been sporting earlier probably hadn't helped matters any, either.

Ducking her head to hide her blush, she stooped to pick up the shoes at her feet. "Don't be ridiculous." She mumbled, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And catching things too!"

She turned her back on them, but not before catching one Harry give another a wink and a playful shove. She missed Ron's reaction, but she was certain it couldn't have been anything to settle her nerves. Oh goodness, now she was really flustered! Squeezing the shoes to her chest, she felt her heart thumping painfully against her ribcage as she made her way over to a less occupied corner of the room. The walk proved far too short, however, as she knew what lay ahead of her once she arrived. The threat of such an undertaking followed quick at her heels, hovering over her like an ominous thundercloud.

Because all the while she was staring at Harry for a glimpse of Ron's underwear, it had never really occurred to her that the same principle was applicable in her own situation. She knew she needed to get back to the task at hand, but unfortunately said task was taking off her own clothing…in front of Ron (and Harry and Fleur and the twins and Mundungus, but mainly, mostly, _Ron_). And yes, she didn't have to worry about what he would think of her body, because after all, he wouldn't be seeing the _real_ her, but he certainly would get an eyeful of her bra and knickers! Ron did not have the same familiarity with her laundry, and she was pained to think that the first time he would see her unmentionables would be on Harrys body (that is, if they even lived long enough for there to be a second time… though oh sweet Merlin how she did hope for a second time). She hadn't even considered this when she was getting ready this morning, and her mind scrambled to remember what she had put on. Not that she had much to choose from, really. Her drawer was lined with sensible nude colors and conservative cuts, most of them purchased by her mum. It had never been an issue before, it wasn't as if Hermione Granger had ever had a reason to splurge on lace or satin or thongs when cotton briefs would do the trick.

But then….oh _no_, she thought with a wave of nausea. Something else she hadn't considered until now sprung to mind, images popping up most unwelcome. Her knickers might cover all that needed to be covered on her own body, but Harrys wasn't…that is, he had…oh _no_!

She would close her eyes, is all. Close them tight and get it over with quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

She wanted to be able to look Harry in the eye after tonight, after all. And Ginny too, for that matter.

With trembling hands she began to loosen her own belt, staring blankly at the wall in front of her while keeping her ears trained as to the commotion going on in the rest of the room. Partially to keep herself distracted from what she might find under the too-tight pants, and also to keep track of _him_. It was with a mixed feeling of relief and disappointment that she recognized Ron's voice, laughing lightheartedly with Tonks some ways away. She reassured herself that this was what she wanted, that she didn't want him to see her like this, even if he wasn't really seeing her at all. But still, a small part of her was hurt…wasn't he the _least_ bit curious about her knickers?

They were almost orange too, as a matter of fact. Well, more of a coral, really, but she couldn't help but to smile wistfully at the coincidence.

As if she needed anymore proof that they were meant for one another.

Her pants hit the ground with a soft thud, and an instant later she was stepping into another pair, awkwardly conscious of the wiry hair brushing up against the denim as she brought them up her legs. There was a patch of matching hair leading down from her navel, but she worked hard to keep her focus away from _that_ area of Harry's body. Again, she was grateful for his bad eyesight, as she hadn't had a chance to don the glasses that were being passed around the room. Thankfully, no one had chucked those at her…yet. She slipped the leather through her belt-loops and tied her laces neatly, steeling herself as she gripped the edge of her T-shirt and counted silently to herself.

1…

2…

3…and go!

She halfway expected Harry's head not to fit through the neck of her shirt, or the shoulders to be too tight to lift her arms, or some similar predicament that would make a fool of her. But it slipped right off, no hang-ups or struggles to be had, and she dropped the shirt with an exhale of relief. Out of habit, she reached a hand behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra, but stopped herself just as her fingers made contact with the band. No, she decided, Harry might not have anything to hide under those gaping cups, but to remove her bra in front of a room full of people was still much too intimate a gesture. So instead she finished dressing in the provided shirt, choosing to slip the scrap of black cloth discretely out through her sleeve with practiced ease. She was just extricating it as she finally turned around, her heart at last having resumed a normal pace, only to find-

Ron.

Weasley.

Staring at her, his mouth slightly agape, as though she wasn't hidden in the body of a teenaged boy. Staring like a boy stares at a girl, a real live girl, and not just his handy-dandy humanoid encyclopedia. His eyes darted quickly to what she held in her hand, and she could have sworn she saw him snap his jaw closed and swallow thickly. Of course, that was hard to tell, exactly, since she still hadn't put on those blasted glasses. Regardless, one thing she could make out was the deep shade of red that his ears were quickly acquiring, a look so distinctly Ron she almost forgot he was in Harry's body for a moment.

And she wished he wasn't. She wished _she_ wasn't. But most of all, she wished they weren't sharing the room with so many other people right now!

When he tore his stare away from her bra (which she quickly stashed in Harry's back pocket) his eyes flickered nervously to hers, their gazes level for the first time in her memory. With a shy smile, he traversed the distance separating them, holding something small in his right hand.

"Here," he said in almost a whisper, passing the glasses he held into her hand, "figured you might be needing these."

She opened her palm to accept the pair and let her fingers trace his for a moment longer than could be deemed accidental. She felt her cheeks burn yet again, taking on a hue to match his ears. "Thanks." She replied, reluctantly withdrawing her hand and sliding the spectacles up her nose, wrinkling it disdainfully as the room came into focus.

"**Harry, your eyesight really is awful." **

Ron chuckled lightly at her, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, and she returned the smile while images of orange underwear swam in her head. It felt good to stand next to him, to smile as though they hadn't a care in the world...especially since it couldn't be further from the truth. The truth was that it was all too likely that in a few moments they wouldn't feel like doing anything of the sort, and might not for a while. Who knew what was going to come to pass tonight, or this week, and least of all this year, so they had better make the most of any cheerfulness while they could. These people were risking their lives for Harry, and they didn't even fully understand why. But she did, and she was willing to do the same without any hesitation. She knew what she was in for, and that there was a very good possibility that either she or Ron, or maybe even both of them wouldn't make it through this war, but there was no way she was going down meekly. She had had enough of hiding and crying and blushing and denying. And so her mind was made up, and if she had had any lingering doubts left, tonight had settled them.

Hermione was going to see Ron, in his underwear and hopefully without, if it was the last thing she did.

She couldn't wait for this bloody potion to wear off.

* * *

_The End! _

_I contemplated so many scenes for this...Hermione getting ready for the wedding, packing her beaded bag, being separated from Ron, getting tortured…and yet I ended up with this one. I thought it rounded out things nicely, throwing something a different interpretation of the title into the mix. Not to mention the fact that I thought that Harry standing there in Fleur's lacy bra was one of the funniest scenes in the movie, and made me wonder how Ron and Hermione felt about undressing in front of each other. So of course I had to end things on a happy note! So thank you to all of those who stuck by this thing during my hiatus, and I hope you have enjoyed reviewing these times Ron hasn't seen Hermione!  
_


End file.
